


With Appreciation

by facetofcathy



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Community: mcsmooch, DADT, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-14
Updated: 2009-01-14
Packaged: 2017-10-08 22:52:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/80326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/facetofcathy/pseuds/facetofcathy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chuck wants to have a talk with John.</p>
            </blockquote>





	With Appreciation

**Author's Note:**

> For the purposes of this story, I'm making Chuck a member of the Canadian Forces (CF). I think that makes it an AU.

John was fidgeting in his chair; he knew he was doing it, but he was bored, wanted to go, get up, get moving, _do_ something. He'd told Chuck he could stop by his office as per request, but he'd had enough chair time flying the damn city back home. The door slid open and Chuck stepped inside. John waved him to take a seat, and Chuck sat and looked at his clasped hands for a minute. John waited him out and tried not to let his leg bounce too much.

"While we were on Earth, I got some time to go back home, see the family," Chuck said, and John frowned. If the guy wanted out of Atlantis, now was sort of not the time to be bringing it up. "My, uh, my sister's in University now. She—well, long story short, she kind of went off on a rant at the dinner table, and we all got the condensed version of her paper for her sociology class along with the mashed potatoes."

"So who started that rumour about Canadians always being polite?" John said, and Chuck smiled at the weak joke, because Chuck was a nice guy—a nice guy who was behaving very oddly.

"Her name was Michelle Douglas," Chuck said.

"Your sister?"

"No, no, not my sister." He sighed. "I'll give you the really condensed version. Michelle Douglas was kicked out of the Canadian Forces for being a lesbian, and she sued, and the government settled out of court and then changed the rules."

"Ah, you've seen the databurst."

Chuck just nodded, not wasting time with apologies for reading the official memos before they were publicly released. "All that was in 1992," he said.

"So, the history lesson is because?" John shifted, now uncomfortable as well as restless.

"Because that was more than fifteen years ago, and if you think everything is roses now, you're wrong."

John hadn't thought that, he hadn't thought about it at all, really, what with the thousand other slightly more pressing issues he had to deal with. "Tell me what I need to know," he said, because this issue was moving up the priority list whether he liked it or not.

"The CF brass—they changed the rules, then shut their eyes and left it up to the chain of command to sort out. It works when a commander wants it to work, and it fails spectacularly when it doesn't. I—I was stationed at a base in Ontario for a while, and a bunch of guys went out, got drunk, saw another soldier that had come out, and they ended up chasing him for about ten blocks until he ran out into traffic and got hit by a car. The guy hobbled out of the CF on a broken leg." Chuck looked up, met John's gaze squarely and said, "I'll spare you the stories about guys who've killed themselves, or just left the CF because of harassment, or had to transfer someplace far away."

"I think I can imagine that just fine," John said.

"Yeah."

"So what works?"

Chuck smiled, looked almost proud, and John had to stop his start of surprise—still his default reaction when someone under his command treated him like a CO they looked up to. "Clear direction from the top, followed up by the iron fist if anyone does something dumb, or dangerous. And, you have to go looking for the subtle harassment, you can't just sit back and wait to hear about it."

"And?" John said. He could see there was more Chuck wanted to say but wasn't sure if he should.

"And," Chuck said, decision to let it out plain on his face, "It would be nice if someone with a little rank went public. It would be nice if it the people who did come out weren't just tolerated, but actually appreciated for who they really are. It would be nice if the chairs in the control room reclined too, but..."

"Yeah, it would be nice if Elizabeth were here. She'd know how to handle this."

"Uh huh."

"Woolsey's no idiot," John said after a while.

"You never know for sure how someone's going to handle something like this though."

"Yup."

"Glad it's not me that has to have that conversation," Chuck said with a bit of an insubordinate smirk.

John was instantly more comfortable. Having his people show they respected him by being mildly insubordinate was pretty much the definition of working with Ronon Dex. And Major Lorne. But there were two sides to every problem in Atlantis, and John rubbed his neck, feeling the tension headache coming already. "Yeah," he said, "I'm going to work my way up to it by trying to explain to McKay that he'll have to do some people managing himself over this issue."

"Dr. Karmali is who you want to talk to," Chuck said. "Or maybe who Woolsey should talk to, she was president of the LGBT group at U of T, but she's been here since the second wave, she knows how things work here."

"Chuck," John said thoughtfully, "did you know McKay has all of Babylon 5 as AVI files?"

"Everybody knows that, sir, just like they know he never lends the flash drives they're on."

"I can fix that," John said, more than a little smugly.

"Can you get me a chair that reclines too?"

"I can try, Chuck. I can try."

***

John tracked Rodney down in the main lab. The whiteboards were all covered in multi-coloured gibberish that John didn't look at too long, for fear he might understand some of it. The room was sullenly silent, like a storm of scientific dispute had just roared through. The eye of that sort of intellectual hurricane was usually Rodney, and he was looking the part. He'd thrown his jacket onto the floor, his hair was as mussed as it ever got, and he was missing one shoe. John would bet on Radek, staring at his laptop and not even acknowledging John's arrival, as the proud new owner of one slightly used shoe, size 10.

"McKay, we have a meeting in an hour with Woolsey," John said as quietly as he could. He could swear every eye was on him, drilling into his back, willing him to drag Rodney off somewhere very far away and hopefully very dangerous.

"Busy."

"Tough."

"Asshole."

"Databurst," John said and waited for Rodney to parse the non sequitur. He didn't disappoint.

"Kanji, Karmi, something, some useless soft scientist—Radek," he hollered across the near silent room, "what kind of cracker-jack diploma does Kanji have, Anthro?"

"Karmali," Radek said without looking up. "Dr. Karmali is a linguist with a secondary specialty in comparative religion."

"Right, her. Talk to her."

"Is there anyone on this base that doesn't hack the databurst?" John said.

"That's a rhetorical question right?"

"I'm setting up a meeting with Woolsey," John said firmly. "Also present will be me, Lorne, that new psychologist guy, Dr. Karmali , and Teyla—I'm talking to her next, because all meetings are better if Teyla's there."

"Great, count me out," Rodney said, and turned back to his work.

"I'm not, I'm counting you in."

"I can't have conversations about stuff like that. I get all irritated, my face turns purple, and I start yelling."

"Rodney, that's you at every meeting we've ever had."

"Shut up. Bigotry is irrational, and irrational things irritate me."

"Everything irritates you," John said, trying not to shout, "You're in."

"I'm out."

"I wish," John said, and everyone in the room gasped in sync.

"Oh for—don't you people have any work to do?" Rodney yelled at the room at large, and then glared at John, and his face was getting a bit red and flushed, and there was a vein sort of pulsing in his forehead, but his lips were having a hard time holding their frown, and his eyes were dancing with a very peculiar light. "Here's my terms," he said, "I'll go to your meeting. I'm allowed to sneer, scoff and sigh all I want. You are allowed to kick me in the shin no more than three times. When the damn thing's done, you will supply copious amounts of beer—and food—and you will dangle your damn legs off the end of the pier and explain that last statement, fully and completely."

"Six times," John said without hesitation, "and you bring the food."

"Four times, and I'll bring dessert only."

"Five times, and I'll bring a bottle of scotch instead of beer."

"Deal," Rodney said.

"It's a date," John said, loud enough for the whole room to hear; their gasp was even louder this time.

***

The meeting went long.

John never even made his allowed quota of kicks, because watching Rodney and Dr. Karmali square off on opposite sides of the table and try to bludgeon each other with their vocabulary was just too damn much fun. Dr. Lang, the new psychologist, spent the entire time making notes until he ran out of paper and then just watched in something like awe, or possibly horror. Woolsey and Lorne looked to be passing notes back and forth.

"Dr. McKay, Dr. Karmali ," Teyla said, in the voice of steel that even Rodney wouldn't ignore, "have you noticed, during your—discussion, that you are actually in agreement about almost all issues?"

Rodney looked to John for support, and John just grinned, which got him a kick in the shin, and then he said, "Why don't we ask Major Lorne and Mister Woolsey what they've worked out?"

***

Rodney had managed to score some pecan pie from the mess hall, likely by nefarious means, and John wouldn't have thought it, but it tasted pretty good with scotch.

"A toast," Rodney said, raising his third drink high in the air. "To the President."

"To the President." John took a drink, then said, "To Woolsey and Lorne, for actually coming up with a plan."

"To Woolsey and Lorne." Rodney set the empty pie plate to one side, and stared out at the water. It was night now; the moons were up, and the sea was calm. "To Elizabeth," he said, and he didn't need to explain to John why she was on his mind today.

"To Elizabeth," John answered, and he took a deep drink, letting the burn of the scotch make his eyes sting. "To Michelle Douglas."

"Who the hell's that?"

"Tell you later," John said. "To Dr. Karmali , for getting you all worked up in that meeting."

"You're insane."

"Likely, but you look pretty good all red and flushed."

Rodney raised his glass, and looked at for a long time. John was about to make a half-empty/half-full joke when Rodney spoke quietly. "To being out," he said.

"Yeah," John said, "to being out."

They clinked their glasses and drained the liquor, and Rodney ran his hands through his hair, making it stand in short sparse spikes. "We're both insane," he said with some chagrin, and what sounded like pride.

"Yup. Hey, it's night shift already."

"As you can tell by the darkness, yes."

"So come on, I want to go to the Gateroom."

"Why?" Rodney said, but he got up when John did, stretching and making his back pop.

"You'll see."

***

There's a photo pinned up in the control room—John Sheppard kissing Rodney McKay in front of the Stargate. It's a grainy black and white—a still taken from the security feed—but Chuck asked them both to sign it anyway. John's name is written in a clear hand, right beside Rodney's careless scrawl, right under the words, _With Appreciation_.

**Author's Note:**

> There are some notes [here](http://facetofcathy.dreamwidth.org/95698.html) with some links and further information about the research I did for this story.


End file.
